Sushi-Qun
by el bastardo
Summary: Hawke somehow convinces his friends to work at a Qunari sushi restaurant for a night in his quest to earn funds for the Deep Roads Expedition. With three warriors taking orders, two rogues rolling sushi and three mages in the kitchen, how could this possibly be a bad idea? Starring M!Hawke, and most characters from DAII.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**Because I love sushi. And Dragon Age. And the idea of all the warriors in little pink uniforms.

**Summary:** And so it begins. With three warriors taking orders, two rogues rolling sushi and three mages in the kitchen, how could this possibly be a bad idea?

**Disclaimer:** They don't belong to me...sadly ;_;

**Sushi-Qun**

**Lunch Rush**

"I will not do it."

"Oh... Come on, now. It's not that bad."

"No."

"I mean, really, the pink goes well with your eyes."

Fenris scowled harder than he had ever scowled before. _I will not_, he repeated internally, more to convince himself than the man standing before him.

_You did him a grave insult_, his conscience reminded him helpfully. _You did swear to help him._

_But this goes beyond help!_

His unvoiced protests became fainter and fainter. The lyrium warrior's scowl became a frown, and then resolved into his normal sombre expression. _It will not be like it was with Danarius_, he promised himself. How could it be, when Hawke was already in the ridiculous uniform himself?

He sighed, crossed his arms over his floral kimono and asked, "How much are we getting paid?"

"15 sovereigns and that treasure chest." Hawke grinned, his teeth glistening whitely through his beard, and pointed at the large chest taking up a quarter of the staff room. The big lock glowed golden in the slanting afternoon light.

Fenris eyed Hawke, dressed in a pink, floral uniform, and looked down at himself. He straightened his wide sleeves. "15 is not enough."

"But the treasure chest!" Hawke's eyes bugged. He gripped the elf by the narrow shoulders and shook him. "There might be something really awesome in there!"

Fenris tore the other man off of him with strength that belied his slender figure. "I bet you your share of the money that it's moth-eaten scarves and a broken fork."

"But it might be a sword! Or armour! It could even be something for you!" Hawke propped a fist on his hip and pointed at Fenris with the other hand. "Anyway, why are you complaining? Aren't you trained for this? Specifically? I mean, when you weren't trained to kill things in new and fascinating ways?"

The elf's eyebrow twitch. His voice came out a low growl. "I was _not_trained to wear a pink uniform and serve tea and rice wine!"

Hawke's wide smile never faltered. "But you do it so well."

Before Fenris could tear out the human's heart and feed it to him, the staff room door slammed open and a massive, horned head wedged itself in. "Bas," the large qunari intoned, "the customers await."

Hawke straightened and nodded. "Yes, Arish-ef. We'll be there in a moment."

With a grunt of effort, the large qunari pried his horns out of the doorway and thudded away.

"Well." Hawke smirked at his companion. "You heard the man... Tonight, we do as the Sushi-qun demands."

Fenris glared a moment longer. "Fine," he finally gritted. "But I will carry my axe." At least it covered most of the gigantic pink bow tied at the small of his back.

The dining room of the Sushi-qun was already half-full with late lunch diners. When Hawke and Fenris emerged from the staff room, it was in time to watch Aveline run through the menu list in a drill sergeant voice. The two customers, they looked like elderly Orlesian men, cringed in their seats and stared up at the guardswoman.

"I'll take ze, um, ze spider roll," said one, trembling, when she had finished her list.

Aveline leaned over the table, braced on her palms, and murmured, "Do you know where we need to go to get those spiders?"

The Orlesians swallowed heavily, audible even from a distance. "What would ze, uh, lady recommend?" the other asked.

Aveline abruptly straightened and smiled. She brushed off the front of her uniform and cheerfully replied, "The Sushi-qun Special for today is the Kirkwall Maki Set. It comes with mixed greens, soup and dessert."

"We'll have two of zose," the Orlesian said.

"Coming right up!" The guardswoman pivoted on her heel and marched toward the kitchen. She paused as she approached Hawke and Fenris. "Well, it's about time you joined me. Fenris, you look lovely. Hawke, you're a disgrace. As usual."

"I love you, too, Aveline."

If anything, Aveline looked more uncomfortable in her own uniform than Fenris felt. It was slightly mollifying for the elf. Slightly.

Aveline swept past and slapped her order on the sushi bar. "Look smart," she barked.

Varric and Isabela, wearing identical white uniforms, jumped and whirled. They stepped closer together, hiding whatever they'd been doing on the counter behind them, equally wide smiles on their faces.

"Another Kirkwall, Red?" Varric asked.

"Two," replied the guardswoman.

"How boring," Isabela sighed. She pulled out her knives. "I like cutting, but not if it's the same thing over and over again. Why don't you let them order what they want to order?"

"In the barracks, everyone eats the same thing."

The rogues looked at each other and shrugged. "I would argue," Isabela started, "but... those man-hands... they frighten me."

Varric leaned sideways, peering over the bits of sea animal and vegetable, through the glass of the sushi bar. "Hey, now, Rivaini, look who decided to join us! Hawke, get your ass out there and take some orders! We want more than one roll!"

Isabela smirked. "I want _all_ the rolls." She heaved a breath and her white jacket stretched over her considerable bosom.

Hawke grinned toothily. "Is, I'll get you all the rolls you could ever want."

"Ugh." Aveline waved a hand as though brushing an insect away from her ear. "I need some salads. Come on, Fenris, I'll show you where the water and wine are."

She led him deeper into the restaurant, past the sushi bar, to a curtained door. Orange light glowed around the edges of the curtain. Smoke wreathed the floor. Fenris' and Aveline's hair rose in the charged atmosphere. Aveline pounded on the lintel. "I need salads!" she shouted.

There was a crash, like pots and pans or a suit of armour. Someone, or some_thing_, called out, but it was muffled and distant. A chill crawled up Fenris' spine at the mournful cry.

Without warning, two hands pushed past the curtains. Each held a bowl. "Salads," came a rather harassed male voice.

Aveline glanced down at them critically. "Anders, these are on fire."

Anders' blond head emerged. He looked down and frowned. "You know, it was good enough for Andraste-"

"Anders," Aveline said warningly.

"Fine," he sighed. Ice crystals and steam puffed into existence in each bowl, effectively putting out the flames. He held them out to Aveline, a hopeful smile on his flushed features.

The guardswoman narrowed her eyes. "Maybe you should ask Bethany to make the salads."

"Um. I'm not sure that's a good idea." Anders' eyes flicked back, over his shoulder, and his black shoulders shuddered. "She and Merrill are, um, having some creative differences about the, uh, the soup." He ducked and a pot careened out of the kitchen and ricocheted off the far wall. "Bethany thinks there should be more octopus. Merrill thinks that octopus is something that can help her rebuild a mirror?" Holding the curtain closed on the sides of his face, he leaned toward Aveline and hissed, "_Help me._"

Aveline took the two bowls of frozen, scorched greenery. "Talk to Hawke, Anders. We all owe him a favour, but just think of what you can get him to do after this."

Anders looked briefly thoughtful. Then he gave a little shriek and wrenched back into the kitchen. "Is that a tentacle?!"

Aveline sighed and looked to Fenris. "The water and wine are there," she said, nodding to a niche further down the hall, where there were kegs, pitchers and bottles a'plenty. "Keep all the glasses full and maybe we'll live through the night."

Fenris steeled himself. He padded forward, took a bottle in one hand and a pitcher in the other, turned and nodded at the guardswoman. "I was trained for this."


	2. Chapter 2

Because reasons.

**Author's Note:** In my fantasy Dragon Age, Carver and Bethany get to keep each other :3

**Afternoon Prep**

At some point in the afternoon, the orders stopped coming. Anders sagged back against a greasy kitchen wall, mopped his forehead with a dirty hand towel, and looked around himself in dismay. Dishes, utensils and body parts were everywhere, most of them scorched, some of them frozen, and one or two of them moving. It was like being in a Coterie dungeon that Hawke and Fenris had already torn through, but it smelled worse.

_Someone needs to clean this up_, he thought dismally. _If I try to cook in here, I'm going to lose a leg._

He sought out his fellow mages. Bethany, the sweet, deluded girl, was still trying to force a recalcitrant octopus into a pot larger than she was, using her staff as leverage and cursing a streak that would make her brother proud. Merrill lingered on the fringes, a pair of shiny shears in hand, her wide eyes following a coiling, writhing tentacle hungrily.

Anders shuddered and averted his gaze.

There was a quiet clank from another corner of the vast room, followed by a muttered swear and a profusion of splashes. Anders perked up. The mage carefully picked his way across the room. "Carver?" he blurted when he spotted the dark head bowed over a great steel basin full of soapy water. "How did Garrett convince you to work back here?"

The younger Hawke looked up and snorted. "He didn't. It was Bethany. And she didn't convince me. She told mother."

"Ah." Anders didn't remember much about his mother, beyond that she had been more of a force of nature than anything in his command. He nodded sympathetically. "Well, do you think you could help me clean up back here? Before the next rush of salad orders?" He waved toward the kitchen gardens and the flora waved back. Those salads were dangerous to make.

Carver glared at his dishwater. "I suppose it'll give me a chance to dry off." He pulled out his hands and squeaked when something black and slimy held onto his wrist.

Anders smoothly brought up his staff and poked whatever it was, letting a jolt of magical energy send it thrashing back into the grimy, lemon-scented depths.

Anders smiled coyly. "There. I saved your life. Possibly your soul and your ability to sire children. So you'll take out the garbage, right?"

/.\./.\

"It's not going to float."

"Of course it is. I know boats like you know over-used cliches and heavy-handed romance scenes."

"Ouch, Rivaini. Ouch. Okay, if it sinks, you teach me the one with a man, a woman, twenty feet of silk rope, three litres of Orlesian Rose oil, and a Seheron land ape."

"And if it floats, I'll teach you, but you need to wear an ape costume." The pirate winked down at her fellow sushi artist. She held a delicately carved sushi boat above the frothing water of an enormous fish tank. Aboard the boat, she had sculpted a crew of nigiri pirates. The one at the wheel had hair of wasabi green and a miniscule bandana.

They watched, enraptured, as she slowly lowered the boat.

A large grey hand reached down from overhead and plucked the boat out of Isabela's hands. "Good," said the Arish-ef, voice like a gong. "It is time for staff lunch."

Varric and Isabela pouted as the Qunari walked away, toward the staff room.

"We'll finish this later," Isabela promised solemnly.

/.\./.\

The back door slammed open. Carver lurched inside and threw his broad-shoulder back to slam the door shut. He stood there, arms and feet braced, panting, and stared at Anders. The mage paused mid-sweep and took in the younger man's sweaty tremble and the bag of trash at his feet.

"There's a bee out there," the warrior gulped.

"Um."

"A _big_ bee. It's flying around the rubbish bin and I'm not going near it!"

Carver's unnecessary paranoia was almost sweet. Anders set aside his broom, took up his staff, and joined the young Hawke. "All right, I'll chase it away."

Carver slunk aside. Anders opened the door and stepped out.

A moment later, he calmly stepped back in and shut the door.

The door rattled in its frame and great heat washed under it.

Anders looked up at Carver. "That's not a bee," he said gently. "That's a _dragon_."

/.\./.\

In the staff room, Fenris very determinedly worked his way through a bottle of the Sushi-qun's house wine. He wasn't very familiar with rice wines; though the flavour wasn't to his tastes, the way it made his kimono less embarrassing was definitely appreciated.

"You going to pour me some?" Hawke asked, sliding his glass over.

"Flames take you, Hawke," Fenris replied gravely. "I do not like pink."

The bearded warrior sighed and leaned back. He eyed the chest in the corner, probably wondering if the contents were worth the irritation of his teammates.

The door opened and, again, it was their Qunari employer. He had to shuffle sideways to get his horns and shoulder guards through the doorway. "You may eat," he told them, placing a boat covered in sushi onto the round table in the centre of the room.

"Is that... a pirate?" Hawke plucked the tiny figure of a person made of rice and fatty tuna off of the mast. It wore tiny pants made of seaweed and a sliver of wood for a sword. He gazed at it for a thoughtful moment, disarmed it, and popped it into his mouth.

Fenris drained another glass of wine and washed it down with a shrimp-headed oarsman.

The Arish-ef tossed back a piece of his own.

Then he went very still.

He coughed, massive shoulders shaking, the gold bands on his horns gleaming.

He bent over, pounded the table, and wheezed.

It was hard to tell, but his grey skin may have turned a deeper blue.

"Maker, he's choking!" Hawke hurried behind the Arish-ef, wrapped his arms around the Qunari's chest, and started to squeeze.

He would have had better luck trying to rescue an oak tree. The Arish-ef convulsed silently, his face contorted into a grimace. Hawke heaved violently behind him, like a small, pink... _I don't even know what to compare him to_, Fenris thought disdainfully. Whatever it was, it looked ridiculous.

The Qunari bent low, his convulsions became weaker. He seemed to give one last attempt, hard enough to knock a horn into Hawke's face. The warrior fell, hands over his face and screaming about his nose, his beautiful, beautiful nose.

Fenris poured himself another drink, slammed it back, and stood. He had to hold onto the table for a moment, to let the world catch up with him. Then he straightened, pushed up his sleeves, and approached the dying Arish-ef. He wiggled his fingers and concentrated. His hand glowed semi-transparent. Quickly and carefully, he reached into the Qunari's chest and pulled out the obstruction.

The Arish-ef gasped and collapsed, breathing hard and rough.

"Huh." Fenris held up the obstruction. "Blue cloth? It looks like a piece of Isabela's bandana."

/.\./.\

This was the worst day in Carver's life. Not only did he have to wash dishes and wear a stupid black uniform, not only did he have to put up with a Qunari boss, not only did he have to feel violated by whatever was sharing the wash water with him, but now he had to fight a dragon. With only three mages to back him up.

"Stand up, Carver! Get back in the fight!" Healing energy washed over him, knitting his wounds and staunching the flow of blood.

Carver used his sword to make it onto his feet. "Maker, just let me die," he wheezed. "_Stop bringing me back!_"

"You're doing great, Carver," Bethany called from her shelter. "Keep it up!"

"Uh, right," added the other healing mage. "Show up your big brother."

"Come on!" At least the third mage, the elf, was up here with him. Granted, she wasn't a whole lot of help. She scampered past him and aimed her staff at the High Dragon circling around for another attack. Whatever she shot at it just seemed to make it angry, though. It folded its wings and dove.

Carver shook his head and, asking himself what he thought he was doing, charged over and knocked the girl out of the way. When the dragon landed, his blade was there to meet it.

"Look at me!" he howled at it. "You're fighting me, you scaly bastard!"

The dragon spat a mouthful of fire at him.

Amazingly, he barely felt the heat. He looked down at himself in confusion.

"The kitchen uniforms are heat-repellant!" Anders called.

"Hah!" Carver laughed, brandishing his sword.

A claw swiped down and sent the warrior skidding into a pile of trash.

Anders winced. "Not... talon-repellant."

"Here we go again," Bethany sighed, summoning a healing glow to her hands.

The restaurant door opened and a vast grey figure stomped past. The Arish-ef lumbered by, slightly blue-er than before, unsheathing his two massive weapons as he went. The two mages leaned out of hiding to watch him approach the High Dragon and Carver's slumped figure. "Back to the kitchen," the Qunari called. "It is nearly the dinner rush. And tell the servers... The Dragon Roll is on special tonight!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **I have no shame.

**Disclaimer:** They don't belong to me. Yet. :)

**Sushi-Qun 3**

**Dinner Arrivals**

The first customer of the evening was young and dark-haired. He wandered into the geometrically decorated restaurant and gazed around with interest. "Saemus?" Hawke asked nasally, approaching with menus in hand. "The Viscount's boy?"

"Serah Ha...awkward..." The youth looked Hawke over, taking in the pink kimono, the beard, and the red welt across his nose. "Is, uh, this the new Qunari restaurant?"

"Welcome to Sushi-qun," Hawke said, spreading his arms to his sides and flexing at the waist. "If you want a Qunari roll, you've come to the right place. Table for one?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, please." Saemus followed Hawke through the dining room. "But you aren't Qunari. Are you a follower of the Qun?"

Hawke laughed shortly. "Not really, no. Only the boss is Qunari. The Arish-ef."

"I see." When Saemus was seated and equipped with a menu of +3 decision making, Hawke turned to leave. "W-wait." The Viscount's son put out a hand. "Please, I'd like to meet the Arish-ef. I want to speak with him. Could I?"

"I'll let him know." Hawke shrugged. "Oh, and your waiter is, well, me, I suppose. What do you want to drink?"

"I'll take the wine. Something Qunari, please."

"All right, I'll send Fenris over. Don't look him in the eye, though, or he might try to run you through."

"Er."

/.\./.\

Aveline looked down at the man sitting at her newest table of patrons, a copper eyebrow lifted. "Captain," she said coolly.

"Ginger Fereldan," her captain replied, eyes narrowing. "This is a Qunari place. Why are you here? There shouldn't be Fereldans here. Are you quitting the guard?"

"No. I'm doing a friend a favour."

The man followed her gaze, picking out pink-garbed Hawke where he wandered amongst the other tables. "Another Fereldan," he scoffed. "Don't you have any non-Fereldans working here?"

"Hm." Aveline leaned sideways and searched the back of the restaurant. She spotted Fenris, leaning against the beverage table and preparing a tray of drinks. Every other drink he poured went into his own glass. She smirked inwardly. "Yes we do, ser. I'll ask him to take care of your table."

"Good. I'm meeting some important people. Make sure it's someone who actually looks good in that garish pink outfit."

"I think he does. Please make sure you tell him what you think. I'm sure he would love to hear it." Smirking smugly, she sauntered away to find her drunk and ornery Tevinter companion.

/.\./.\

"This isn't good," Hawke murmured seriously to Aveline, where they crouched behind a row of potted plants and peered toward the door. "Not good at all."

"We can't let him know."

"No, we can't." They stared at each other for a long, terrified moment.

The trio at the door looked around, their expressions darkening as a restaurant server didn't immediately appear to seat them. On the left, Orsino tapped his three-headed, serpentine staff on the polished wooden floor. On the right, Meredith folded her arms across her breastplate and scowled. In the centre, Grand Cleric Elthina folded her hands.

"Should we ask them to leave?" Hawke asked.

"No!" Aveline aimed a smack at his head.

Hawke made to duck, then stopped, horrified, and received a solid smack. Rubbing his head, he swore and nodded toward the door. "Flames! Look!"

Fenris' lean figure sloped to the waiting trio. The elf was a little unsteady on his feet, though his grim features gave nothing away of how intoxicated he had become. Hawke leapt up to intercept the other warrior, but his pink kimono got in the way of pretty much everything and he crashed into one of the plants.

Fenris pulled to a stop in front of the trio, carefully plucked three menus from their holder, and fanned them out. He frowned. "A table for three," he said, in a tone that just dared his customers to argue.

"Obviously," Meredith drawled. "By a window."

"I'd rather sit near the kitchen," Orsino immediately objected, lifting his pointed chin.

"Somewhere in the middle should be fine," the Grand Cleric added gently.

Fenris' hard gaze went from one to the other of them. Softly, dangerously, he told them, "You will sit... where I seat you. _On the patio_!" He jabbed a finger toward the door.

The three looked at each other and shrugged.

"This way." Fenris stalked past them and the dangerous trio followed.

Hawke and Aveline breathed sighs of relief. "Far from Anders," Hawke murmured. "Thank the Maker."

/.\./.\

Aveline's breath caught as the most handsome and noble guardsman to don the Kirkwall plate entered the Sushi-Qun. Donnic looked good. Very good. Aveline soaked in the sight of his skin, his face, his jaw, his soft brown hair. If things had gone poorly before, in that back alley, Donnic could have been terribly injured, that handsome face marred. Instead, he glowed with health and good cheer.

_Of course, I have Hawke to thank for that._ She smoothed down the front of her dress, irked by how it bunched around her hips. _Thus my current predicament._ She sighed and looked back up. _It was worth it, though. Donnic, you're safe..._

Her happiness disappeared the instant she noticed Donnic wasn't alone.

The guardsman was with a woman, a petite blonde. A beautiful blonde who was laughing and smiling and _had her hand on his arm._

Aveline fought the urge to draw her sword and attack.

_I can't face him like this_, she realized, feeling chilled. _I'm his fellow guard! I can't serve him salads and Dragon Rolls! Not if I haven't cooked them myself!_ She dropped down into an empty booth, panting heavily and gripping the seat.

Hawke, his head going this way and that, probably searching for her, walked by. She snaked out a hand to grasp his kimono. He jumped and gaped down at her.

"Hawke!" she whispered. "It's Donnic!"

"Who?"

"I can't serve him!"

Her friend looked her over quizzically, but nodded. "All right. I'll do it. Anything for my Aveline."

She leapt at the possibility- "I can leave?" she asked hopefully.

He pursed his lips and nibbled on the edge of his moustache. "No." He tore himself out of her white-knuckled grip. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and wallow in the information that I now hold over you, Ser Sweet-on-Donnic." Chuckling evilly, he strode away.

She heaved a breath and let her head fall back. Weakly, she shook her fist at his retreating back and the long pink ribbons wobbling behind his legs. "_Hawke._"

/.\./.\

"Would you look at that?" The dwarf chuckled and looked Hawke over. "You're the lad going down to the Deep Roads with us. It's Hawke, right? I'm Bodahn. This is my boy, Sandal."

"Enchantment!"

Hawke smiled thinly. "Welcome to Sushi-Qun."

"I thought you were some kind of smuggler or mercenary?"

The warrior looked over his shoulder and laughed nervously. "That's what they say... Let me show you to your table, far, far away from the guard captain..." He guided and seated the father and son, and armed them with menus. "The special tonight is the Dragon Roll. Also, the soup might be possessed."

Bodahn grinned at his son. "Excellent! I do love ethnic restaurants."

"Enchantment!"

/.\./.\

Hawke recognized Gamlen before the man walked through the front door. The air reeked of dishonesty, hopelessness, poor dental hygiene and pomade, then the door opened and in walked the man himself, a washed-out elf woman under his arm.

"Ugh," Hawke muttered. He turned hopefully. "Aveline, could you...?"

"Yes, Hawke, I'll take care of it." Aveline smirked and poked him in the chest. "So long as you forget everything you've seen here tonight."

He blinked, momentarily confused, then remembered the rather plain guardsman she had had a fit over. "Oh! Yeah. Thanks for reminding me, Madam Interoffice Romance."

She scowled at him, snatched up some menus, and stormed away to meet Hawke's uncle.

/.\./.\

The kid stank of magic.

Fenris' hackles rose. He glared, pointed, and hissed, "_Apostate._"

The blond youth flinched and cringed back. His hair was nearly white and his skin was pale, so the dark shadows around his eyes stood out like bruises. "I just need something to keep me awake," he whispered.

"How about I keep you awake with my axe?!"

"Fenris," interrupted an amused voice from behind him. "I think Varric is trying to pour himself a drink."

The elf spun around and glowered up at Hawke's impassive face. "From _my_ wine?" he demanded.

"Er, well, the Arish-ef's, but yes. From that wine." Hawke jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Maybe you should check on that."

Fenris straightened his uniform, squared his shoulders, and stalked toward the back of the restaurant. Behind him, his keen ear picked up Hawke saying something like, "We'll tuck you into the back. The Dragon Rolls will keep you awake." Fenris had bigger concerns than insomniac apostates, though. Those beverages were _his_ responsibility.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Shame? I has none. The adventures continue, growing more convoluted and ridiculous as the night wears on. But! No matter what issues arise, the temporary staff of the Sushi-Qun will rise to the challenge.

**Dinner Rush**

Merrill used two delicate sticks to pull a long, thin flat noodle out of the broth. "The art of noodle-making was lost to my people long ago," she said, considering it thoughtfully.

"_I will help you recover that art,"_ said the Eluvian from its corner of the kitchen.

"It is really creepy when it talks," Bethany commented. She tossed a wok of battered and deep-fried fish and vegetables as she spoke. Grease spattered everywhere but her delicate white skin, protected by a barrier spell.

"I'm quite certain that's a demon," Anders added, narrowing his gaze on the mirror.

Merrill dropped her noodle sticks and hurried to the Eluvian. "Don't listen to them," she murmured. "You're not a bad spirit. You're going to help me bring back the lost arts of my people. Aren't you, you adorable little thing?"

Anders and Bethany shared a look of discomfort.

/.\./.\

With a deft twist, Varric pulled his fragile carrot masterpiece inside out. "And...just like that...you have a butterfly garnish!" He presented it in his broad, ink-stained palm.

"Oooh," Bethany sighed, pillowing her chin in her palm.

"It's so cute," Merrill murmured.

"How did you do that?" Bethany asked.

"Pure skill, Sunshine." Varric set it on the sushi counter with the small army of other animals made out of vegetables. He reached into the case of sushi ingredients, chose an especially dainty spear of white asparagus, and said, "For my next trick: a halla."

The two mage girls leaned over the counter to get a closer look.

"Oof!" Bethany lurched sideways, jostling Merrill, and whirled around. "Who—?" She spotted the pink kimono, the giant axe, the white hair, and the unsteady step and scowled. "Fenris! You ran into me!"

Fenris turned his head to slant a narrowed green glare over his shoulder. He snorted derisively. "You got in my way, Apostate." He smirked and continued on, bearing two pitchers toward the dining room.

"Ugh!" Bethany gripped Merrill's arm. "He's such a horse's ass sometimes."

"Do you think so?" Merrill stared after him. "I find him quite pleasant, actually. Well, to look at."

"Don't be fooled, Merrill," Bethany muttered, "the handsome ones are the meanest."

"What about your brother?" Bethany gave Merrill a look of such horror that Merrill quickly laughed and cheerily announced, "I'm kidding, of course! Garrett Hawke is as ugly as a hurlock!"

"Oh, thank you," Hawke muttered. He grabbed a plate of sushi from Isabela and hurried away before the girls could see the tear trickling into his beard.

"Oh dear," Merrill sighed, staring after him.

"We can't let Fenris pick on us like this," Bethany declared, fisting a delicate white hand. "It's...it's unjust! Uncalled for! Unfair!"

"Your halla, dear lady," Varric interrupted, holding up the intricate piece of vegetal art.

Bethany snatched it out of his palm, focused all of her irritation into the thin asparagus legs and antlers, and threw it across the restaurant in the direction of Fenris' white head.

"Sunshine!" Varric cried, aghast. "My halla!"

Bethany grabbed up the carrot butterfly and turned to Merrill. "Come on, Merrill, we can't let that broody elf get away with harassing us."

Merrill smiled weakly and gingerly claimed a parsley dragon. "Um. Whatever you say, Bethany."

/.\./.\

"Hey! Boy!"

Hawke dived behind a potted plant.

Aveline, walking past with a tray of dirty sushi blocks and miso bowls, paused to say, "Your uncle is calling you."

"I know," Hawke hissed, glaring up at her. "Stop talking to me!"

"Garrett," Gamlen said, rounding the leafy foliage. He folded his arms. "What are you doing? Didn't you hear me?"

Hawke bolted upright and straightened his kimono. "No?"

"Just like Leandra. The old girl doesn't hear anything that isn't immediately preceded by, 'if it please her ladyship.'"

Hawke scowled. "Don't talk about my mother like that—"

"Whatever. You work here. Can't you get me some free rolls or a discount or something? I've got a lady with me and I don't want to look cheap."

"Gamlen, you look and smell like you robbed your clothes off of a burlap sack filled with old cheese!"

"That doesn't mean I'm cheap."

"Yes you are!"

"Well, I don't have to act like it."

Hawke, speechless with impotent rage, looked to Aveline.

Aveline lifted her free hand, palm out, and turned toward the kitchen. "You're on your own, Hawke."

"Come on, boy, you owe me."

"I owe you?!" Hawke groped the air in his pure, impotent rage. "I owe you an early death and an unmarked grave, you—" He cut himself off as he spotted a sushi boat mid-construction on the sushi bar. An idea occurred to him, cracking into the back of his head like a genlock's axe. He smiled at his uncle, showing all of his teeth. "You know what?" he said. "I have just the thing for a classy lady. A sushi pirate boat."

"How much?"

Hawke's grin widened. "On the house."

"As it should be." Gamlen clapped him on the shoulder, leaving a greasy smudge on the pink satin. "And make it snappy. If I tell Leandra what her eldest boy wears at night, she'll kick it."

"Yes, ser," Hawke muttered under his breath. "Just watch out for the pirate accessories...they're killer."

Chuckling to himself, Hawke headed for the sushi bar to make a special order.

A tattooed hand flashed out from under an unoccupied table and nearly crushed Hawke's calf.

"Ngah!" Hawke shrieked. "Sushi monster!"

The hand yanked him, screaming, down and under the table, as the Sushi-Qun's confused patrons looked on.

"Hawke!" Fenris wrapped an arm around Hawke's shoulders and clamped a hand over his mouth. "Be silent or they'll hear you! They—are you crying?"

"Fenris?" Hawke pulled away and averted his face." No," he sniffed. "You just startled dust into my eyes. Why are you hiding under a table?" He glanced about at their shadowy shelter.

"Shh! Demons!" Wide-eyed, Fenris dropped his head to peer out under the tablecloth.

"Demons?" Hawke jerked back and slammed his head into the table. "Ah, flames," he hissed. "Here? Where?"

"Everywhere." A glint of madness appeared in the elf's eye. "Vegetables in the shapes of animals, Hawke, and they are after me!" He made a fist and stared broodily down at it. "This is Danarius' doing!"

"Are you sure it's not the four casks of rice wine we've gone through already?" Hawke leaned away, his concern shifting to a demon of another nature. "Because the Arish-ef is starting to ask questions—"

"Silence!" Fenris held up a hand, his pale head going this way and that, ears slanting back. "I can hear them."

"I don't hear anything..."

Fenris grabbed Hawke's mouth again, his grip painfully tight. Hawke, having had just about enough, tore the elf away. Then he stopped, as he heard the flutter of tiny wings against the draped cloth, and saw a strange, tiny shadow of a four-legged creature. Then another. And another.

"They found me," Fenris whispered.

Hawke reached out a trembling hand toward the shadow. Slowly, he pinched the table cloth. And then, in a quick, decisive motion, he ripped it aside.

A miniature halla, its antlers unmistakably made out of the top of an asparagus spear, stared in at him. Its eyes glowed red.

Hawke froze.

The halla jumped forward, its needle-like hooves a blur, and ran past Hawke, charging directly at Fenris.

Fenris shrieked and fell backwards, out from under the table, dragging the table cloth with him. Hawke scrambled after him, just in time to see Fenris run, screaming, toward the back of the restaurant, the blue cloth bannering behind him.

"They're in my hair, they're in my hair!"

In the air behind Fenris, Hawke thought he saw tiny animals, possibly made out of vegetables, dive at the elf as he ran.

Hawke slowly stood, rubbing more startled dust out of his eyes. He turned.

Aveline stood next to the table, menus in her hand, a handful of Chantry sisters at her back. "Hawke," she said coolly.

"Um. Aveline." Hawke cleared his throat and tugged his kimono into careful order. Once he felt somewhat composed, he explained, "I believe that Fenris has finally descended into madness. And I think he dragged me down with him."

"That's nice, Hawke." She turned to the robed sisters. "I'll seat you at another table."

/.\./.\

Anders began to wish that he hadn't healed Carver so completely. Not that he wanted to see the youth in pain, but now Carver seemed to think that they were, if not friends, good enough acquaintances that he could complain, ceaselessly, about the ills of the world. Most particularly, the ills of a world in the long shadow cast by his brother.

"It was all I could do to get to Ostagar," he nattered on over the splashing of his dish water. "For one, the recruiters only wanted Garrett, not me. He never should have shown off like he did, it really didn't help matters. And then, some Templars spotted Bethany doing, you know, something magicky. You'd think with a Blight on, they wouldn't bother with her, but no, they came around, started shaking us down, nearly tore the place apart—" he paused to take a breath.

"It's the demons," Anders interjected into the slim silence. "Not that I agree, but they're worried more by demons and possession than the mages themselves."

Carver stilled. He glanced over, to where Anders ground up ginger root for the sauces. "I never thought of it that way," he said thoughtfully. "So, really, by protecting Bethany, Mother and Garrett have put us all at risk."

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way—"

"I knew he was a fool!" Carver punched his soapy water, liberally soaking his already torn and bloodstained black uniform.

"Now, Carver, she's your sister, too."

"Yes, of course she is, but Garrett's the eldest. It was his decision, really, to let a demon loose on our family..."

Anders would have continued to protest, possibly with the aid of his mortar, pestle and a handful of lightning, but he heard a faint whimper. Grasping at the distraction, he hurried away from the kitchen scullery to the pantry door. "Merrill?" he called. "Did you get stuck in the garlic ropes again?"

He heard a scuffle from within.

"Did you say something?" Merrill asked, coming around the giant soup pot. A tentacle slithered over the edge and rubbed her shoulder. She patted it absently.

"Um. No. No, that's all right, Merrill." Anders shook his head rapidly and turned back to the pantry door.

Something squished under his boot. Frowning, he crouched and discovered that he had just crushed a badly mangled white asparagus spear.

"Weird," he murmured.

Something scuffled in the pantry again. Slowly, Anders turned the knob and pulled the door open.

For a moment, he didn't see anything but the small, cramped room, dusty barrels and crates of dried foodstuffs, sacks of rice and hanging herbs. Then he jolted sideways, away from Fenris' fiery green glare and faintly glowing tattoos, shining through his pink uniform.

"Fenris?!"

The elf hung from the door, his arms and legs bound by thin strings to the wood, thickly enough to hold him. He growled and strained, tendons protruding from his neck, his jaw clenched. After a moment, he sagged. "Demons," he gasped. "Vegetable demons."

A half dozen miniscule creatures hummed out of the shadows and began pummelling the Liliputianed elf. Anders blinked his surprise, reached out and cast a simple dispel. As one, the creatures fell to the wooden floor. He picked one up, lifting a brow at the intricate carrot butterfly.

"_Demons_," Fenris whispered.

Anders smiled. "What? This?" With a spark of thought, the thing burst into flames and quickly vanished. "Not anymore."


End file.
